


A Cat Named Erik (The Very Next Day Remix)

by JackyJango



Series: Remixes [10]
Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Still Have Powers, Cats, Charles Xavier has a Ph.D in Adorable, Crack Treated Seriously, Domestic Fluff, Erik Lehnsherr is not a Happy Bunny, Erik Logic Is The Best Logic, Established Relationship, Fluff and Crack, Jealous Erik, M/M, Possessive Erik, mean cat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-15
Updated: 2018-07-15
Packaged: 2019-05-31 03:08:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15110558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JackyJango/pseuds/JackyJango
Summary: One day, Logan breezes into their house like he bloody belongs there, with a cigar stubbed between his lips, a cat in hand and an expression so smug that Erik wants to do nothing more in that moment than burn Logan’s eyes with the said cigar.'I found this cat while rescuing a building, Charles. He was homeless. I thought you'd like to keep him,’ Logan says. Erik begins to protest but Charles holds the cat and awws and coos, and Erik's protests die a strangled death. Logan smirks looking directly into  Erik's eyes, and says, 'Oh, and the locals say that his name is Erik.'





	A Cat Named Erik (The Very Next Day Remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [afrocurl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/afrocurl/gifts).
  * Inspired by [the very next day](https://archiveofourown.org/works/883983) by [afrocurl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/afrocurl/pseuds/afrocurl). 



> **Disclaimer:** No cats were harmed during the writing of this fic.
> 
> I had never thought that I'd write a fic with cats, but afrocurl's fic was too good to resist.
> 
> Thanks to the lovely [spaskaalekha](https://spaskaalekha.tumblr.com) for the beta!  
> I hope you enjoy it!  
> Cheers!

           The roots of Erik Magnus Lehnsherr's hatred run wide and deep. He hates everything; from humans to pineapples on pizzas, from anti-mutant policies to anything that comes in a strawberry flavour, from Genosha’s corrupt Prime Minister to trashy reality shows, from Charles’ teenage students to cars that come in a plastic body, and from mainstream journalism to squishy anti-stress balls. The list of the things he hates is frequently appended and made available in both alphabetically and chronologically sorted versions. There's one thing Erik hates on that list this year-- more than Logan, who had topped the list last year-- with such a vehemence that were he to focus the same energy on lead molecules, they'd turn to gold, or were he to streamline that energy on Jupiter's magnetic fields, he could tilt its orbit by three degrees, flinging five of its moons into outer space.

The number one spot on the list this year is taken by Erik-- no, not him-- Erik, the cat.

Now, Erik doesn't hate animals (No PETA intervention required, thank you very much) He's kind to them. He doesn't shout at them like he shouts at the humans. He doesn't fling metal objects at them like he flings at the humans. He doesn't beat the shit out them like he does with the humans. That, in Erik's books, is being kind. In fact, he owes his gratitude to Charles’ previous cat for bringing Charles into his life-- or for setting Charles’ apartment on fire, which in turn, brought Charles into his life.

(As sweet and weird the story of their meeting is, Erik doesn't wish to mull on it now, because that would also entail mulling on Logan's existence, the defending champion for this year's list)

Very few things prevent him from strangling Erik, the cat by tightening the buckle of its collar and watching it scream-- by few things, he means, Charles and Charles’ happiness.

It had all begun when Logan had breezed into their house like he'd bloody belonged there, with a cigar stubbed between his lips, a cat in hand and an expression so smug that Erik had wanted to do nothing more in that moment than burn Logan’s eyes with the said cigar.

'I found this cat while rescuing a building, Charles. He was homeless. I thought you'd like to keep him,’ Logan had said. Erik had begun to protest, but Charles had held the cat and awwed and cooed, and Erik's protests had died a strangled death. 'Oh, and the locals say that his name is Erik,’ Logan had said with a smirk solely directed at Erik. And Erik had wanted to do nothing more then than twisting all the metal in Logan's body into an unidentifiable heap. Only few things prevented him from doing so-- by few things, he means, Charles and Charles’ high moral grounds.

Erik Magnus Lehnsherr isn't the one to suffer from others. In fact-- much to Charles’ distress-- he's the one to inflict suffering on others. But in a million years, he didn't think that he'd suffer in the hands of a cat.

*

It all starts with a picture.

Charles has a wall above the entertainment deck solely dedicated to pictures. All the pictures on the shelves are meticulously chosen and framed by Charles. There are pictures of the two of them, pictures of Raven, of Charles with his friends. Though Erik isn't a fan of hoarding pictures, he doesn't mind it. He only had one picture to offer to the collection. It's a picture of the two of them, taken during sunset on the last leg of their European trip-- probably Venice, if the background is any indication. Erik's face is blurry in the background, but the tender light of the dusk falls on Charles’ face and lights up his smile in a golden hue. It's one of Erik’s favourites, actually.

One day he walks in from work and finds the picture missing on the shelf. In its place is a framed picture of a lean and mean ginger cat with unnatural grey eyes staring straight into Erik’s eyes. When he enquires Charles about it, he smiles way too cheerfully and says something about cluttered shelves and lack of space and wanting to make the cat feel like a part of the family.

 _Like the damn cat would know either way,_ Erik wants to say. But then, Charles knits his eyebrows and asks with deep concern in his wide, blue eyes, 'Is there something wrong, love?’

Erik dumbly shakes his head in negation.

If only Erik knew that it would be a prelude to what’s to come ahead.

Two days later Erik wakes up later than usual. Being a Saturday, it’s his day off work, so he’s allowed to indulge a little. A pleasant smell wafts from the kitchen as he stretches languidly. Years of being a firefighter has made his olfactory senses sharp and his nose sensitive. Every substance burns with an unique smell, and Erik can locate the source of a burn just through the smell hidden in the fumes. By now, it’s safe to say that his uncanny sense of smell is his secondary mutation.

Erik walks to the kitchen and stops in the doorway. In the kitchen, Charles is humming quietly to himself and whisking a bowl of cream. His hair is a beautiful mess. He’s dressed in Erik’s t-shirt-- the hem flowing till his mid thigh and covering his boxer briefs. The tie of the apron he’s wearing clutches to his lower back, accentuating the rather luscious swell of his arse. It’s the hottest thing Erik has ever seen--- but then again, anything involving Charles is the hottest thing he’s ever seen.

If Charles hasn’t sensed him awake, then he must be engrossed in the what he’s doing. Only belatedly does Erik observe the assortment of mixed dough and berries on the counter. The sweet smell permeating through the kitchen is coming from whatever is baking in the oven.

Erik walks up to Charles and hugs him from behind, wrapping his arms around his hips and burying his nose in the hollow of Charles’ neck-- exactly where his teeth had dug possessive marks the previous night. Though startled at first, Charles relaxes immediately and sends him a warm mental kiss.

Erik begins to lick the line of Charles’ throat, nosing behind the ear and trailing his lips slowly downwards. There’s something off today about the way Charles smells, Erik realises. Something foreign. Charles doesn’t smell the way he does when he wakes up--sweet and a little musty. Charles doesn’t smell of Erik either-- considering how the previous night’s activities must have brought about that effect. Instead, Charles smells ruddy; and the smell is rather strong. Erik tries to ignore it as he sucks on Charles’ skin. Soon enough, the weight between his legs  gets heavier and if the gasps and groans escaping Charles’ lips is any indication, he too is getting aroused. One thing leads to another, and Charles gets hefted on to the counter. Several containers fall and spill to accommodate him. Charles’ flour smeared hands get tangled in his hair, and Erik begins to suck on Charles’ tongue earnestly. Erik is contemplating the creative means of incorporating the whipped cream into the act when his tongue-- now buried deep inside Charles’ mouth-- brushes against what feels like strands of hair. Erik tries to ignore it, he really does. But with every swipe of his tongue, its existence becomes more and more prominent-- like a bad song that keeps playing in your head the more you try to get rid of it.

Eventually, Erik pulls back and plucks the strands that have stuck to his tongue. Three ginger strands, not more than an inch in length, stare back at him from his finger.

‘What is this?’ he asks.

Charles looks perplexed for a moment, and then remembering, laughs. ‘Oh, it must be Erik, love. He tackled me to the ground when I got out of the room this morning and started licking-’ whatever Charles says next falls deaf on Erik’s ears. If anyone can lick Charles, it should only be _him_ . Now the odd smell on Charles gets a context. And if Charles can smell of anyone, it should only be _him_.

Erik doesn't know how he missed the damn cat sitting on the far shelf. Now that he’s looking at it, he can see the death glare it’s shooting him, its entire body tensed like a loop of coiled spring, ready to bolt into action. Erik can sense a challenge when he sees it. So he glares back at it with a look that says: _Stay off my property_.

And just to prove his point, he fucks Charles on the counter, all the while making sure that the cat is watching.

Two days later, Erik finds all of his turtlenecks covered in cat hair-- by all he means, what constitutes half of his wardrobe. It takes him five hours to clean them all between bouts of cursing, and even then, two are unsalvageable. His perpetual bad mood causes an altercation with his boss that costs him the loss of a day's wage.

Raven drops by with a bag of popcorn on a Sunday. Charles and Erik are sat on the sofa while Raven is sprawled on the adjacent arm chair. The siblings are bickering about which movie to watch while cartoon network runs on the TV. The hell cat is curled up on Charles’ lap like it's the most innocent thing in the world. Erik's in the middle of reading: _21 Ways of Getting Rid of an Annoying Pet_ on his phone when Raven almost shouts, ‘Oh, that's totally you guys.’ She's comparing them to the cartoon that's running on the TV, Erik realises. _Courage, the cowardly dog_ , the title reads. Erik remembers watching it fleetingly when he was a child, but for the life of him, he doesn't see how Charles and he fit into the premise.

‘Charles is Muriel, the cat is Courage, and Erik,’ she says pointing to him gleefully, ‘is totally Eustace.’

Erik definitely is not a grumpy dude with an odd jaw who wants to kill his pet much to the distress of an adorable partner. He definitely is not. So he goes back to reading: _How to Abandon Your Pet in the Middle of Nowhere_ section of the article to the sound of Charles’ delighted laughter.

To guide him in the bedroom, Erik reaps the aid of what he calls- ‘GPS’. While the nomenclature of the technology with the same name that is designed to guide its users navigate the detritus of civilisation is uncertain and underrated; his, however, is purely and simply called- Good Pounding Sound.

With the wide range of data that comes from having the honour of sleeping with Charles every night, Erik has collected and studied the sounds that escape the scintillating ruby ring of Charles’ lips and mapped them into the grooves of his mind. Such is the extent of his research that Erik knows what Charles wants with just a gush of air escaping his lips.

For instance, now; the way Charles is breathing airily beneath him, and the way his breath is shuddering erratically indicates that Erik’s just beginning to hit the right spot. So Erik angles his hips and intensifies his thrusts. And soon, Charles is moaning, Erik's name a broken syllable on his lips. The sound goes straight to Erik's dick, and he closes his eyes to savour it.

'Eriiik…’ Charles moans. It indicates that Erik is doing his job correctly. So he continues to thrust long and deep.

'Eriiiik…’ he hears Charles’ moans again, and then… ‘Meow’.

Meow? Surely he must have imagined it.

'Oh, Erik…’ Charles moans a little louder this time. Following it comes a louder, 'Meow’.

Erik snaps his eyes open to see the demon cat on the ground, showing its canines and growling at him.

How did that bloody cat get inside the room? Erik was sure he had locked the cat outside.

'Oh, Erik,’ Charles laughs, and Erik thinks that Charles is regarding him for a moment before he realises that Charles is looking at the cat fondly. To his utter horror, the demon cat’s eyes immediately mellow and he begins to _purr_ , wagging its tail. It makes a step towards the bed, and Erik only sees red. His-- what Reven calls-- caveman possessiveness takes over his senses, and before Charles can show him his sad-puppy-big-blue-eyes beseeching him to let the cat stay, Erik opens the door of the room with his powers, floats the cat out of the room with the metal on its collar and slams the door shut in its face. Whatever protests Charles might have had about ill-treating the cat gets drowned by the arousal that flares in his mind on being audience to the use of Erik's powers. Of course, he's only happier when Erik fucks him harder than usual, much to the satisfaction of Erik's caveman instincts.

The next day, Erik finds his favourite leather jacket ripped on the floor of their closet. The tear marks appearing in batches of threes are unmistakable. Erik curses loudly in all the languages he knows. And he continues to curse until his neighbours complain to the authorities about the possibility of a mad man in the building.

Erik has never stayed alone with the cat. There's always Charles’ pacifying presence to subdue the murderous intent that lingers and festers between the two of them.

One Thursday, Erik falls asleep on the couch after getting home from work. Charles is nowhere to be seen when he wakes up much later in the evening. But there's a note on the dining table in Charles’ neat and loopy handwriting that says:

> _Heading to Moira's to pick up papers for grading._
> 
> _Will be back before you realise it._
> 
> __-Charles XOXO_ _

 Erik smiles for a moment before he hears a screech. And right there in front of him, sitting on the dining table with its ears perked up in attention and teeth bared is the demon cat. By the looks of it, it's guarding Charles’ note like a Dragon guards its gold.

With Erik sitting on one of the chairs, it puts the devil cat in eye level with him. The cat growls at Erik, baring all its teeth. So Erik growls back, baring all his teeth in return. So engrossed in his glare-fest is he that Erik misses Charles entering the apartment. And when Charles says, 'Hello Darling’, both the Eriks turn towards him at once.

The next day when Erik goes to the fire station, he finds his subordinates huddled close, snickering over something on their phones instead of working.

'Exceptional,’ Erik drawls, and like a pack of birds dispersing at a pelted stone, they speed out throwing troubled glances in his direction and rush back to their stations.

‘It's not their fault, you know,’ Azazel says from behind him when the last of the dumbheads have fled from his presence.

'Here.’ Azazel hands him his phone. The first thing Erik sees on the screen is Charles’ profile on Facebook. Of course, expect Charles to be Facebook friends with all of his colleagues. The next thing Erik sees on the screen is a photo of him and the hell cat locked in a starting match and baring teeth at each other. _My two favourite men in the whole world_ , Charles’ caption says.

No. Absolutely not. Erik should be the only man Charles loves most in this entire world-- and by Erik, he means himself, not the hellcat.

Before Erik can crumple the phone, Az plucks it from his hands, grumbling something about paying a fortune for it.

‘Az, I’m going to kill that cat,’ Erik says through gritted teeth.

Az shrugs, ‘You've lived with Charles’ cats before this. I don't see what's new.’

It's true. Erik had lived with two of Charles’ cats-- both females-- before the hell spawn came into his life. He hadn't been particularly fond of them, but he hadn't vehemently hated them as well. He has just been… indifferent to them. In turn, they had been unobtrusive. It had been a symbiotic relationship if not anything else.

'New? The bloody cat _mewls_ every time Charles calls _me_.’ Erik emphasises the point by pointing a finger to his chest. 'Every time Charles calls ‘darling’, it comes running from whichever corner of hell it's in. He growls at me every time I try to kiss Charles. He even tried to bite me once. It's like Logan somehow doubled himself and threatened some poor mutant to transform his duplicate into a cat so that he can cock block me 24/7 and have all of Charles’ attention to himself.’

‘You should look into that possibility,’ Az says pensively, his uneven brows knitted.

'I did,’ Erik nearly shouts, ‘but I couldn't find anything on that fucker.’

At that, Azazel’s serious face twists into a train of snickers and chuckles. Erik must have known better than expecting sympathy over his plight. Of course, his best friend would choose the seat with the best view and come armed with popcorn to see him suffer.

'What? It's not funny, Az,’ Erik tries to protest, ‘I can't even smoke in the house. In my own bloody house…’ Erik continues to vent, and Azazel laughs at him throughout.

Erik is tired by the time he reaches home at half past ten in the night. If the day had started terribly, it had gotten worse as it had progressed. By the time they had brought the flames engulfing the Hospital under control, the neighbouring building had contacted the fire. Even with their reserve crew at work, they hadn't been able to avoid injures.

All Erik wants to do now is curl up behind Charles and fall asleep on his soft bed inhaling the scent of Charles’ hair. He doesn't expect Charles to be awake at this hour with the telepath having early classes the coming morning. But not only is Charles up, he isn't alone either. To Erik's utter horror, the hell cat is sleeping on _his_ pillow and nuzzling Charles’ neck. Charles is gently stroking its head, and his tired mind whispers to him: _the way he would have stroked your head if you had slept on his chest_.

Charles notices him in the doorway and smiles brightly. ‘Erik you're home!’

'What’s he doing here?’ Erik asks the more important question, pointing at the cat.

'Oh,’ Charles’ smile falls, but only a little. 'About that. Darling, would you mind sleeping on the sofa today?’

'What?’ Erik asks incredulously, because all that smoke inhalation sometimes causes temporary hallucinations, and Erik is surely hearing things.

'Erik isn't feeling well. He hasn't eaten anything for two days, and he hasn't been sleeping well. I tried putting him elsewhere, but he won't sleep anywhere else. I'll take him to the vet tomorrow and he should be fine. Just till then.’ Charles is giving him the wide, blue beseeching Charles-Xavier-gets-what-he-wants-with-just-this-look eyes.

Erik looks down to where the devil cat is nosing at Charles’ chest. He pretends that he’s not imagining it smirk at him, and fails.

‘Please, love. Just today.’ When Erik doesn't respond, Charles says quickly, ‘Five blow jobs, whenever you want. However you want. How does that sound?’

Damn it all!

Erik calls Raven while he tries to find a comfortable spot on the sofa and not flinch at the unfamiliar scent of the spare pillow.

Being the night owl that she is, Raven picks at the second ring. ‘This better be urgent Lehnsherr. Else I'm going to cut you with a plastic knife.’

'Raven, how serious is Charles with this cat business?’ It’s something he’d meaning to ask Raven for a long time now.

Raven is quiet for a moment, and then she answers, ‘He was dating this guy back in college. Charles liked him a lot, but he dumped him because he was allergic to cats. How serious does that sound to you?’

Erik gulps audibly. It does sound damn serious.

‘This is about that cat, isn't it?’ Raven continues, 'I really don't understand how you can't stand a carbon copy of yourself?’

'What do you mean?’ Erik asks, confused. Names apart, how is that demon cat a copy of _him_?

‘Just the appearance alone, Lehnsherr. It's unnaturally tall and lean for a cat. So are you.

It's got grey eyes and too many sharp teeth. So do you. It's grumpy and mean and hates everything that isn’t Charles. So do you. I mean, it's like a cat version of yourself or something. It's basically weird,’ Raven concludes.

Damn.

The next morning, Erik finds his pillow soaked in cat urine. He's only two minutes away from the next day's local newspaper printing: _Area Firefighter kills cat, gets dumped by boyfriend and incurs the wrath of the local Cat Owner's Association_.

It's not that Erik hadn't tried other ways of dealing with the cat. He had; only futilely.

He had almost begged Raven to train the devil cat to respond to a different name, but she had dumped the cat basket in their living room after only three days (The bloody cat is just as stubborn as you. Deal with it).

There are not many things Azazel wouldn't do for a free beer. But apparently, one of the things he wouldn't do even for two crates of free bear is teleporting the hell cat to the middle of the Siberian wilderness (Are you kidding me? Your boyfriend will fry my brains if he finds out. And don't forget that he'll dump you too).

Neither of them knows how they ended up like this-- not that they're complaining, of course. What had started as a session of cuddles and innocent kisses on a Tuesday evening had turned into something rather intense. Now, the two of them are kneeling in front of the sofa with Charles clutching the cushions and Erik's tongue aggressively probing Charles’ entrance.

'Do that again,’ Charles is saying between shallow breaths. 'Yes… Yes… God.’

Erik does. He swirls the tip of his tongue along the pink circle of the muscle and jabs the tip into Charles’ hole.

'Spank me, Erik,’ Charles orders, his voice commanding. And a commanding Charles is the hottest thing in the world-- then again, any form of Charles is the hottest thing in the world. 'Come on, spank me.’

Not that Erik needs to be told twice. So he does. He smacks one hand to the round flesh of Charles’ arse and revels as the sound reverberates in the otherwise silent living room.

The last thing he remembers is Charles moaning his name loudly before there are sharp claws digging into the tendons of his neck and an angry screech filling his ears.

'The scratches on the neck are very close to the jugular artery, so we'll keep you under observation for sometime,’ Hank says before leaving them alone in the Emergency wing of the hospital. There had been a little blood loss, yes, but nothing Erik couldn't have handled. But Charles had insisted (Erik, we're going to Hank this instant. No arguing).

Raven had collected the hellcat much to Erik's disappointment. Given Erik a chance, he would have liked to kill-- He had already conjured up some creative ways.

The decision had to be made- it was him or the demon cat.

It must be the meds Hank gave him that has made his mind fuzzy and thoughts loud. Charles walks back from the doorway of the observation room catching the last of his thoughts. 'Are you jealous of the cat, love?’ he asks, barely restraining a smile.

Of course not. Erik definitely isn't jealous of a _cat_. That would be absurd. Of course, he denies it.

Charles laughs warmly as he climbs into his lap on the bed. He runs his hands over the scratches on Erik's arms and neck, and sighs. 'Erik is not a bad cat, darling. His concerns are just a little misplaced. That's all. He attacked you today because he thought you were hurting me, not because he hates you. Do you know that he waits for you by the door till you get back? He likes you, he just doesn't know how to show it.’

It doesn’t have any difficulties in expressing its love for you, Erik thinks irritably.

When Erik doesn't respond, Charles continues, stroking the hair out of Erik's forehead. Erik arches his neck to lean in to the touch. 'Listen, if it's bothering you that much, what do you say we list down a set of rules for Erik we both agree upon? And if the name bothers you so much’- and now he leans in further to whisper the words to Erik's lips- 'How would you feel if I called you by another name when we're at home? We're already using Magnus.’ And just to emphasise the point, Charles grind his arse on Erik's lap. Charles had nicknamed his dick as 'Magnus Opus’-- a nomenclature that fills Erik with pride every time time he hears it. Even now, Magnus perks up at the attention. ‘So how about your birth-name Max? It does have a ring to it, doesn't it?’

Well, when Charles says it like that, with the posh British pouring out of his red lips, Erik can't deny that it does sound hot. Then again, anything that comes out of Charles’ mouth sounds hot to him.

‘You know I can't say no to you,’ Erik whispers looking up at Charles’ blue, blue eyes (It really must be the meds making him sappy).

'That I know, my love,’ Charles says fondly and smashes their mouths in a searing kiss.

*

Two weeks later, Logan breezes into their house like he bloody belongs there, with a cigar stubbed between his lips, a white cat with ginger patches in hand and an expression so smug that Erik wants to do nothing more in that moment than shove the same cigar down Logan’s throat.

'I found this cat while rescuing a building, Charles. He was homeless. I thought you'd like to keep him,’ Logan says. Erik begins to protest-- hadn't he suffered enough because of _one_ cat-- but Charles holds the cat and awws and coos and says something about Erik getting a playmate, and Erik's protests die a strangled death. Logan smirks looking directly into Erik's eyes, and says, 'Oh, and the locals say that his name is Max.’

Maybe, it's time for Erik to revise his list.

-

**Author's Note:**

> P.S: If Erik had thought that Erik, the cat is a bad dream, Max turns out to be a nightmare. So Erik brings home a sweet, fluffy, white cat with blue eyes and a pink nose and names it Charles. Erik watches smugly as Erik and Max fight for Charles' attention. 
> 
> Charles, the cat LOVES Erik.  
> Most importantly, he has _his_ Charles all to himself! 
> 
> Some headcanons of what the cats might look like:
> 
>   **1\. Erik**  
> 
> 
>    
>  **2\. Max**  
> 
> 
>    
>  **3\. Charles**  
> 
> 
> I'd love to hear your thoughts!  
> Also, [JackyJango](https://jackyjango.tumblr.com) on Tumblr  
> Thank you for reading! :D


End file.
